When soldiers enter combat, Wellman doesn't provide clear objectives. The battle scenes are noteworthy for their chaos. Shots suddenly ring out and soldiers dive behind rubble. We don't know if any objectives other than "survival" even exist. As bullets whiz past their heads, soldiers size up the situations and sergeants silently signal commands. Wellman's camera doesn't hype these scenes for their heroic values. No one dies a hero. The camera allows scenes to unroll in medium and long shots. Wellman's respect for the soldiers comes through in this unwillingness to imbue the scenes with false emotions. Instead, he wants us to understand their weariness (one soldier is so exhausted he falls asleep while standing up in the shower), their misery (their uniforms are eternally encrusted in mud), and their fear (they endure relentless shelling by heavy artillery).
Structurally, the movie takes us on a journey to the battlefront. Therefore, in general, the movie is comprised of two types of scenes: men trudging along muddy roads and men waiting for orders while burrowed into the sides of hills. The episodic structure resembles a series of journal entries, simply arranged in chronological order, with the main rationale for each episode's inclusion being its representativeness. Instead of surprising us with unusual revelations and unexpected developments, Story of G.I. Joe surprises us with its bluntness and authenticity.
Unlike other war movies made during the '40s, soldiers frequently question what's happening. "I wonder when we're going to start winning this war," says a commander. And the movie stresses the confusion of the soldiers. The towns they pass all look the same and become a blur:
"Didn't we take that yesterday?"
"No, that was 'San' something else."
"When this war is over I'm gonna find me a map and find out where I been."
In the movie's most prolonged sequence, soldiers dig in at the base of a hill, while Italian artillery bombards them from a monastery on the top of a nearby hill. Because the monastery is considered historically important, the Army hesitates to attack. With their hands tied, the soldiers dig deep into the hillside, watching dirt fall from the ceiling as explosions jolt the ground. Every evening, the Captain asks for volunteers to join a mission to pickoff the enemy soldiers who operate the artillery. And every morning, the survivors of these missions stumble back into camp, dazed and bleeding.
Burgess Meredith plays Ernie Pyle and it's one of his best performances. He becomes our eyes and ears, allowing us entrance to the world of the soldier. Meredith gives a quiet performance. He's largely an observer but through him we see Pyle's dedication to the soldiers. Pyle was determined to make his readers in America understand what the infantrymen endured, the sacrifices they made for the war, and their dedication to getting the job done.
Robert Mitchum plays Captain Walker. This is the performance that brought Mitchum his one and only Academy Award nomination. He is featured in less than a quarter of the movie's running time, but his powerful presence is felt throughout the movie. Whereas Robert Aldrich's superb Attack presented a scathingly cynical portrait of the men who commanded infantry, Story of G.I. Joe is compassionate. Captain Walker can be stern but he always has the best interest of his men in mind.
Image Entertainment's DVD includes an extensive gallery of Ernie Pyle's original newspaper columns. Viewers can navigate through these documents by using their remote controls. Knowing that Pyle died during WWII adds a distinct poignancy to this columns, especially when they are read in chronological order up to the date his reports stopped altogether. The DVD also contains newsreel footage of Pyle talking with G.I.s in Italy (although this footage is fairly brief). The 35mm transfer is in generally good condition. You'll see some dust specks and the detail in some scenes has been slightly washed out, but the transfer is sharp and exhibits good contrast.
This is an essential DVD for war movie fans.
